


one part sweet and two parts bitter

by blacksatinpointeshoes



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Arguing, Complicated Relationships, M/M, Married Couple, Power Outage, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27512899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacksatinpointeshoes/pseuds/blacksatinpointeshoes
Summary: there’s a beautiful arc of lightning outside, and it’s so bright that there’s a moment of delay before either of them realize the lights have gone out. the retort dies in dix’s throat as the night closes in, the quiet background buzzing of their appliances shutting off one at a time until only silence remains. for the first time dix notices the strange syncopation of cornelius’ breath, an odd contradiction to his solid silhouette against the black.or, a portrait of an eventful night.
Relationships: Richardson Games/Cornelius Games
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	one part sweet and two parts bitter

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "the good life" by sammy rae. her music slaps

“jesus christ, cornelius, i asked you a simple fucking question,” dix says irritably, pushing his chair out from the table with a bit more force than necessary.

“and i gave you an answer.”

“did you actually?”

cornelius looks at them more sharply than before. “what the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“did you actually answer me or are you just giving me some passive aggressive bullshit to shut me up?” dix opens the refrigerator, peers through it for no other reason to have something to do. he’s not hungry.

“now you’re just trying to piss me off.”

he lets the door slam. “maybe i wouldn’t fucking have to if you ever told me where you were going!” 

a branch of the tree outside their kitchen window smacks into the glass from the force of the wind outside, and cornelius’ face darkens with the rolling rumble of thunder. “and perhaps i would still tell you if you so much as pretended to be interested in attending.”

“i never said i wasn’t. not everyone fits into the stupid fucking boxes you’ve cut out for them.”

“it’s not what you said.”

dix wants something else to smack or break or something. “maybe you should listen to  _ that,  _ then.”

“why? your arriving drunk to a meeting with a contact before noon speaks much louder.” 

dix hates this specific way that cornelius argues: cold and mild and cruel, with a casual shrug that blames you for slipping on the ice rather than for the ice being where it shouldn’t be. “good to know that you think of me as such an embarrassment, babe. i was getting worried for a second that i was setting higher standards.”

and that’s what drives cornelius up the wall— the way that dix manages to turn everything into a pointedly personal attack, like they’re deliberately misreading everything he says to continue feeling hurt. cornelius hates being baited into arguing with someone who knows precisely what to say to pull his patience taut, and then nurse the resulting wound when the rubber band snaps against their skin. “if you’re so intent on my listening to what you say, the very least you can do is extend the same courtesy.”

“sorry,  _ were _ you listening? or were you making decisions about my life choices without telling me anything? because that’s what it looks like to me.”

“if you are going to behave with that level of disrespect and irresponsibility, i reserve the right to keep you out of my business.” 

“whatever. that’s bullshit and you know it and you need to stop treating me like a  _ fucking  _ child.” 

there’s a loud clap of thunder. “then, my love, stop  _ acting  _ like one.” 

“fuck you.” 

“mature.” 

_ “fuck  _ you. god—” there is always a time in their fights where dix feels like tearing out his hair and this is it. “you’re so full of shit, cornelius. sorry for asking what you were doing like a normal fucking person.”

the kitchen light flickers overhead, and cornelius’ face is thrown into stark shadow. “demanding the explanation for a restaurant receipt isn’t ‘asking what i was doing’ in any capacity.” 

“you know what? fine! whatever. it doesn’t matter. go do whatever you want, fuck whoever you want—”

“for the last time, i’m not cheating on you.” 

dix, who knows cornelius is telling the truth, says, “yeah. sure.”

“dix, i—” a frustrated exhale is overtaken by a louder rumble of thunder and cornelius flexes a hand. “if you keep wanting things to be evidence you will force yourself to find it.” 

“then be clear for once in your fucking life and stop acting like i should expect—”

there’s a beautiful arc of lightning outside, and it’s so bright that there’s a moment of delay before either of them realize the lights have gone out. the retort dies in dix’s throat as the night closes in, the quiet background buzzing of their appliances shutting off one at a time until only silence remains. for the first time dix notices the strange syncopation of cornelius’ breath, an odd contradiction to his solid silhouette against the black.

“is your phone charged?”

dix starts. “what?” 

“we can use our phones as flashlights. is yours charged?”

“oh.” of course. obviously. they should’ve thought of that. fucking cornelius. dix pulls it out of their pocket and switches it on. “forty one percent.” they feel small in the dark. 

“good.” 

“yeah.” 

dutifully, dix enables the phone’s flashlight feature, casting the corners into a deeper pitch against the white light. cornelius does not. “babe?” 

“just— just a moment.” dix shines the beam in his direction and cornelius steps back. “i  _ said  _ a moment—”

“what’s going on?”

the sky roars again. “i’ll go get some candles,” cornelius says, and his tone is wholly controlled as he turns to disappear into the hallway.

something sharp claws its way up dix’s throat. “wait—”

cornelius stops, waiting, halfway illuminated by an unsteady wave of light. eventually it becomes clear that dix isn’t going to say anything. “yes?” 

“can you—” dix doesn’t want to ask. he doesn’t know what he’s trying to say. he feels like he’s choking on the night, like it will swallow him and the things that hide there will have him at their mercy. 

there’s a contact on his arm and dix nearly jerks straight upwards, but realizes in time that it’s cornelius. it’s just cornelius. it’s fine. everything is fine. “is this okay?” cornelius asks, and his tone is so gentle as he moves his hand to the small of dix’s back. they nod, swallowing. “love?”

right. it’s still pitch black. “yeah.”

“we can set up some lights in the bedroom. flashlights, candles. ride it out.”

dix pretends like he doesn’t notice the tremor in cornelius’ fingers, clears his throat. “stupid, but sure.”

their bedroom is another with a large window, and the storm rages outside. cornelius turns on his phone’s flashlight and the combination of the two rays provide a poor imitation of a lightbulb. 

“i’ll be back in a minute,” cornelius says, still deliberate and distant, as dix slips into his side of the bed, for the first time aware of the chill that’s settled into the air. 

cornelius leaves, and there is nothing but them and the now-thirty-nine percent battery on their phone, and it is so stupid to be afraid. he knows this house. he understands the way it creaks and groans and it is no different in the dark. he should be better than this.

the next crack of thunder is accompanied by a loud crash from the hallway. “babe?” silence. “cornelius? what happened?” 

“nothing,” comes the response, almost immediately.

“that didn’t sound like—”

“it’s fine. it’s—” there’s a second rumble from outside and then quiet. “i’m going to get the matches now.”

dix, despite a genuine curiosity, stays quiet, and the dark joins him in his silence. it’s just that this shouldn’t be happening; he’s an entire, grown adult who knows better than to lose his shit when the lights go out and shouldn’t have to rely on his husband to protect him from the scary things. and yet, all the same, dix has turned the brightness on their phone up to its maximum and is intermittently sweeping the room with the flashlight beam, just in case.

after what feels like an hour but what his phone informs him has only been seven minutes, cornelius appears in the doorway, bringing with him a comforting digital glow, a few battery powered flashlights, and a collection of candles that look like they belong in the home of someone at least fifty years their senior. “hey.”

the red embers of a cigarette glow between his lips. dix pushes themself upwards onto their elbows, frowning. that’s never good. “what’s wrong?” 

cornelius pauses, setting a few of the battery powered flashlights down on the nightstand and switching them on. “i’m fine, love.” he’s lying and they both know it. 

with a few more light sources set up, dix can see the tension in cornelius’ stance, so different to the wound-up anger of before. dix begins repositioning the flashlights as cornelius gets to work on the candles, flipping open a book of matches. there are a few moments before the next crash of thunder, loud and unexpected, and— _ “shit!” _

“babe?” dix turns to fully face cornelius, who has dropped a match. it’s unlit, but barely, the head spewing grey into the flashlight’s line of light. and his hands are shaking. ah. oh. fuck. “look, i can light this one. it’s fine.”

“no, i—”

dix catches him on the arm and pulls him around. “cornelius. bed. now.”

cornelius, despite himself and despite his pride, listens. dix lights the offending candle and settles back down to where cornelius has snuffed out his cigarette and is attempting to make himself comfortable. there’s enough light for dix to see his expression, halfway between frustrated and pained, and they open an arm just so. an offering. an olive branch.

after the uncharacteristic outburst, cornelius is oddly silent as he fits himself against dix’s body, turning his face inwards. dix, emboldened by the light, lets their hand find the back of cornelius’ head and their fingers explore his scalp. cornelius’ arm comes around their waist, but it’s less solid, less sturdy, than it usually is. cornelius is not the sun around which the contact revolves; instead it grounds them  _ here.  _ it keeps them tethered and safe and where they are. 

dix’s palm rests against the base of cornelius’ skull. “thunderstorms?” they ask, and feel his shoulders tense up again. 

“for the love of god, just accuse me of cheating.” 

the laughter is short but earned. “i’m serious.”

“so am i.” cornelius’ voice is dryer than old bone. anger can be disarmed. fear must be ridden through, and it’s not over until it’s done.

“i didn’t know,” dix says. it’s not like cornelius ever told him. 

cornelius tilts his face upwards. “and i didn’t know to strike any candle lit dates in the moonlight off the list either.”

“you’re such an ass,” they say. there’s no bite in it.

“no one made you marry me.”

“i will kick you out of this bed here and now.”

“will you?”

“do you want to test that theory?”

cornelius does not want to test that theory. he stays quiet.

“that’s what i thought.”

they don’t speak for a while. there’s no point to drag the cards further onto the table when they’re already bleeding. the silence is something like a truce without a treaty as dix continues to brush his thumb back and forth over cornelius’ short, textured hair.

at the next jolt of thunder dix is unprepared to feel cornelius flinch against him, quickly stilled into an unsteady trembling. they think back to why the hell they’ve never noticed this before— sure, this is their first big storm living together, but weather has  _ happened  _ during the years they were dating. during thunderstorms before… well, dix recalls, cornelius would either get mean or leave or both, which isn’t unforeseen behavior in sunlight, but bad storms always seemed to catch him in a mood. or put him in one, it appears.

relaxing, cornelius presses a kiss to dix’s collarbone, and dix leans in, closing his eyes as cornelius presses his lips to their neck, their jawline. soon the two of them are at eye level, facing one another, and— “wait,” dix says, “no, wait, i’m still pissed at you.”

cornelius, the bastard, laughs. “oh?”

“you didn’t tell me where you were going for three days, came back with a bunch of receipts and a hotel stay, and then called me childish.”

“i did say that i was going to be away during that time.” 

“sh. shut up.” cornelius does so. “you don’t get to kiss me until i’m not mad at you anymore.”

“okay.” he’s smiling. goddamnit, cornelius. 

“you were being a passive aggressive asshole.” dix tilts their head back, thinks. “you didn’t buy orange juice even though i asked you to.”

“really?”

“yes.”

“how was i supposed to know you were upset about that?”

“i opened the fridge.”

“you didn’t say anything about the fridge.”

“the orange juice would have been in there, if you had bought it.”

“right. of course.” a pause. “and i too would appreciate if you stopped accusing me of cheating on you.”

“there were charges to two different hotel rooms within three days and a very expensive dinner receipt in your pocket, what the hell was i supposed to think?”

cornelius shifts to look him in the eye. “sapphire, if i were cheating on you, don’t you think i would do a better job of hiding it?”

well. 

shit.

he does have a point.

“huh,” says dix, because if there is anything cornelius can keep it’s a secret. he’s a good liar who prefers not to because he can’t get caught in the truth. if he were to keep something from dix, he likely wouldn’t make it so damn obvious to find, because dix knows his tells when he lies anyway. “alright. i’ll give you that.”

“have i been suitably cleared to kiss you?” cornelius asks, a smile touching one side of his lips. it disappears within the moment of the next thunderclap.

“no,” dix says, and it unwinds just a bit of the tension right away. “last week you put a silver button down in with the whites.”

“is that a criminal act?”

“it should’ve been hand washed.”

“my sincerest apologies.”

“genuinely, babe, hand wash that.” 

“hand wash it yourself.”

dix rolls his eyes. “real mature.” 

“i apologize,” cornelius starts, and the shift into genuine regret is so sudden it catches dix off guard, “for what i said earlier. it was out of line.”

another beat of silence. “i shouldn’t have continued to say that i thought you were cheating on me after i knew you were telling the truth,” dix mumbles. 

“mm.” cornelius is unreadable, which means dix had been correct when he guessed the accusation would hurt.

“yeah.”

“are you still angry with me?”

dix takes a moment to think about it. cornelius’ eyes are so bright in the flickering firelight of the candle, like twin diamonds. “not right now.” 

“i see,” cornelius says, and closes the distance. 

sometimes, when they are fighting, dix forgets why he puts up with the obsession of organizing a heist, or how he ever could’ve been persuaded into living with a man who gets out of bed before seven am on a regular basis for absolutely no reason. sometimes dix swears that cornelius’ pretty face is just desperately begging to be punched. sometimes, when dix looks at the man he married, all he can see is a garden whose flowers were planted on a plot of land always destined to be a battleground. 

and then so soon afterwards there is this. although the reconciliation is inextricably linked to the kiss, to leave the credit to the physical touch would be an insult. cornelius is a force in his own right. he reaches out with the entirety of his devotion and the west wind sighs in relief. he touches dix with such an irrevocable and private softness they can barely think. in this moment dix is adored, and they remember the laughter, the thrill, the joy of loving and being loved in return. and for now, it is worth the pain.

dix is ready for the next crash of thunder, feels it as cornelius’ hand clenches in their hair, and they murmur against his lips, “do you want me to go back to being angry?”

“absolutely not,” cornelius says, his answering laugh a low vibration.

“sure?”

_ “very.” _

and for now, under the covers in the middle of the storm, they’re comfortable. they are.

**Author's Note:**

> we are all love blaseball


End file.
